The XFactor
by alittlelucky
Summary: Several teenagers have died suspiciously in Manhattan recently. A tip from an old friend points the Saints to a new target. Their latest mission has links to a past they thought was far behind them.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Paul Smecker glanced at his watch. 7:45 AM. Sunday morning. He should be in bed asleep right now, not sitting in this little mom-and-pop diner drinking bad coffee and waiting for a surly Irishman to show up and tell him whatever it was that couldn't wait until a work day. An ancient waitress that he had decided had probably come with the building appeared at his table with a coffee pot.

"Freshen your cup, dear?" she asked through bad dentures, waving the pot at him dangerously.

"Sure, thank you," he said, leaning back slightly to avoid any caffeinated fall-out.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat, honey?" she asked for at least the third time. These old grandmother types, always trying to feed somebody.

"I'm fine, thank you," Smecker said, with another glance at his watch. Judging by the appearance of the cook that just walked by, his decision to skip the food seemed like a wise one, if only for sanitation purposes. The old waitress wandered away muttering something about 'starving themselves for beauty…' and Smecker dumped more sugar and cream into his cup.

Finally, just before 8:00, the annoying little bell on the door jingled and Smecker's "appointment" entered the diner. He stood and shook the older man's hand when he arrived at the table.

"Well, Papa Mac, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" Smecker said with a smile. Even though he had been kept waiting and the hour was somewhat obnoxious, he was glad to the eldest MacManus. He didn't get a chance to see any of the Saints much anymore, since they became so high profile after the Yakavetta trial, so when one of them made contact with him every once in a while, he was relieved. He knew that if any of them had been killed he'd hear about it on the news or at least through the grapevine at work, but he still liked to catch up with the boys and their father when he had the chance. He felt a special connection with them. After all, he had dressed as a woman for them. Not the first time he'd done that, but definitely one of the more interesting.

"Well Paul," the Irishman said, sitting down, "I came to thank ye, and to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Smecker said, surprised.

"Aye, I'm headin' home. It's been too long. Back to me homeland, me wife and me favorite pub," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Back to the old Emerald Isle, eh?" Smecker said in a casual tone that he didn't really feel. He believed in the Saints' mission wholeheartedly and somehow, he figured there weren't a lot of mobsters and drug dealers that needed delivering in their small Irish hometown.

"Aye, but before I left I wanted to tell ye thanks, fer helpin' me boys and me. Some of our best jobs, we could'nt've done without yer tips."

"Well, it's been a pleasure, I suppose," Smecker laughed, "When are you all leaving?"

"Oh, we're not all goin', just me. The boys decided they weren't done just yet," the older man answered. He showed no emotion about it and Smecker couldn't tell if he agreed with their decision or not. Still, Smecker felt a little relieved that it all wasn't over yet.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope.

"Well, in that case, give this to the boys for me, will you?"

The older man nodded, taking the envelope and rising from the table.

"So long, Paul, and keep safe," he said.

As the man formerly known as Il Duce exited the diner, Smecker sighed and wondered if he'd had too much coffee to be able to go back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A woman's voice sounded over the airport loudspeaker: "Flight 114 to Dublin now boarding at Gate E."

"Well, that'll be mine," said the eldest MacManus, stooping to pick up the small duffel bag that was serving as his carry-on luggage. He slung it over his shoulder and turned to face his sons. "Now, you boys behave yerselves," he said.

"We will, Da," they replied in unison, identical grins breaking out on their faces at the old memory of answering their mother's orders in the same way.

"And look after each other," their father continued.

"We will, Da."

"And call yer mother."

"We will, Da."

Their father stepped closer to his sons, who were standing side by side. He placed his hands on their shoulders. "Murphy, Connor, I'm proud of ya both," he said.

"Have a safe flight, Da, and give Ma a hug for us," said Connor, the fairer of the twins.

"We'll miss ya," said Murphy.

Da nodded. He wasn't a man of many words. He turned to head toward his gate, but stopped short. "Almost forgot, Smecker wanted me ta give somethin' to ya." His face breaking into a grin so much like his sons' at the surprise on their faces, he reached into his pocket and produced the envelope he had been given at the diner. He handed it to Connor. "Well, be good," he said, and walked away, leaving his sons both looking confused. He was almost out of earshot when Murphy's voice reached him.

"Well, what the fuck, then?"


	3. Chapter 3

Connor walked into dingy motel room that was home this week, with Murphy right behind him. "Well fuckin' open it then, this is some crazy spy shit or somethin'!" said Murphy, kicking off his boots as he entered.

"Yeah, or it's a love letter to ya. Ye seem like Smecker's type," Connor grinned, waving the envelope at his brother.

"He said it was ta both of us, ya sick bastard," Murphy replied, making an ugly face.

Connor shoved aside some empty beer cans and sat at the small table in the corner of the room. He turned the envelope over and over in his hands very slowly, enjoying the angst he was clearly causing Murphy at the moment. He slowed down his twirling of the envelope even more and glanced over at Murphy, raising his eyebrows and trying not to smile as his brother stood glaring at him with his arms crossed. Suddenly Murphy sprang forward, bashing Connor in the side of the head and grabbing the envelope all in one swift movement. Murphy danced away with his prize held aloft but tripped over his discarded boots. As he fell to the dirty carpet, Connor tackled him, not concerned with getting the envelope but wanting to clobber Murphy back. He landed a few solid punches to Murphy's ribs before Murphy wriggled away and stood back up, the now battered envelope still held tightly in his hand.

"Now look what ya did, it's all fuckin' mangled!" Murphy said, brandishing the envelope at Connor who was still on the floor.

"Well, open it then, idiot," Connor replied, getting to his feet.

Murphy flopped onto his bed and tore the envelope open. He dumped the contents out onto the bedspread. It consisted of several newspaper clippings.

"What's this, a fuckin' scrap book?" Murphy said, picking up the first clipping. It featured a small photo of Smecker standing with a few men in police uniforms and a headline reading: _FBI Agent to Head Manhattan Branch_, and an article about an anti-organized crime taskforce that the NYPD was creating. It explained that organized crime activity had been dramatically increasing in New York City recently and citizens were calling for a solution which would hopefully come in the form of this new task force. The second clipping was an older one that talked about the killings at the Yakavetta trial and the later trials of a few of the remaining underbosses. The third clipping showed what looked like the school portraits of three teenage boys under the headline: _Ecstasy Linked to Teens' Deaths_. The short article that followed said that the Manhattan boys, who had recently died from unknown causes, were apparently overheard at school talking about buying Ecstasy and that the drug had been found in their systems during their autopsies.

"So what's the point?" said Connor, after they had both finished looking through the clippings. Murphy shrugged and started to get up when something caught his eye. On the second clipping, the one about the Yakavetta family, there was a single word hand-written in the margin. It said, _Cavelli_.


	4. Chapter 4

"Cavelli?" said Connor, grabbing the clipping from Murphy. It was ringing a very faint bell with him, if only he could figure out why.

"Aye. Sounds like a name, right?" said Murphy. It wasn't a word in any of the languages he knew, so it had to be a name. Besides, it was written with a capital letter.

"Cavelli…" Connor repeated the name quietly. He stared at the handwritten word, his brow furrowed as though that would make the blank margin present the answer.

Murphy got up and began scrounging around the room for something to eat. On the table he found a box of Cap'n Crunch and tore into it. He started pacing back and forth slowly, eating the dry cereal. Connor continued his staring and muttering the name. They both recognized it but couldn't remember why.

Crunch, crunch.

"Cavelli…"

Crunch, crunch.

"Cavelli…"

Crunch, cr—"Would ya stop with yer fuckin' chompin'?! Christ, ya eat like a fuckin' pig!" Connor shouted suddenly, flinging the clipping aside. This, of course, only made Murphy crunch his cereal much louder. Connor shot him a deathly glare and he stopped. Annoying each other was fun but actually making each other angry wasn't, especially on a day like today when they were both a little tense after Da's leaving. They understood why Da had wanted to go back to Ireland, after having been away for so long, but they were still going to miss him. After all, they'd only had him around for six months or so.

Murphy sat down on the end of the other bed and held the box out to Connor as a peace offering.

"It's right on the edge of me mind, so it'll come," he said.

"Aye," Connor agreed, reaching into the box. As his fist closed on a handful of cereal, his eyes lit up.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed, pulling his hand out of the box and spilling some cereal along with it.

"So who's Cavelli then?" asked Murphy excitedly.

"No, no, I mean, I've got it…"Connor held out his hand. On his palm, among bits of cereal rested a small plastic bag. The prize from the cereal. Murphy groaned, rolling his eyes. Connor grinned mischievously and tore open the prize. His smile disappeared.

"A cop badge. Dammit, I was hoping for at least a toy dinosaur or somethin'," he said. He tossed the plastic badge at Murphy. "Ye can have it. Maybe ye can use it ta sneak inta the precinct and look up this Cavelli guy."

"Yeah," agreed Murphy, "Except that the name came from a cop in the first place."

Connor sighed, rubbing his chin. "Aye, it'll come ta me later, anyway. But what's all this other shit?" he asked, gesturing toward the other newspaper clippings on the bed.

Crunch, crunch. Murphy was back on the cereal. "Well," he said thickly through is mouthful, "Obviously Smecker wants us ta know he's movin' to Manhattan…"

"Yeah," said Connor.

"And that there's a lot of scumbags in New York."

"Well, no kidding," said Connor, starting on his own handful of cereal that he had abandoned for the prize badge that Murphy was now fiddling with. "So I guess he thinks we should go ta New York?"

"Yeah, and do his fuckin' job for him," said Murphy. SNAP. The little belt clip on the toy badge broke off and went whizzing across the small room, narrowly missing Connor's ear. "Cheap piece of shit," Murphy frowned.

They sat in relative quiet for a few moments, finishing their Cap'n Crunch dinner and each considering the new possibility. It was Murphy that broke the reverie.

"We did mention leavin', even before Da was gonna go," he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

"And we aren't doin' much around here," Connor contributed. Since they had begun their mission, they'd had their pictures all over the news and had to keep an increasingly lower profile to avoid being caught. Not that the police had been actively looking for them—Smecker and some of his buddies had seen to that—but getting recognized by the general public would be just as bad, if not worse. Lately it had even come to the point where Connor and Murphy were hesitant to venture out together, reasoning that people would be less apt to recognize only one Saint at a time. The necessity of being apart was almost the most unsettling thing. Going solo just didn't feel right.

"So whatta ya think, do we leave this fair city that's been our home and run off to New York because of some crazy James Bond secret spy envelope shit?" asked Murphy.

Connor grinned. "I'm strangely comfortable with it."

Murphy grinned back. "Me too, actually."

"Well, if we're gonna go, we might as well go soon," said Connor.

"Yeah," Murphy agreed, "I'm ready to get out of this shithole, that's fer sure." He gestured around the room.

"Yeah well, I have a feelin' this'll be nice compared to any apartment we can afford to get in New York," said Connor.

"Yeah, but it'll be a new shithole, a change of scenery." Murphy closed the flap on the cereal box and tossed it back toward the table, missing by a few inches. Connor got up and retrieved it, putting it down on the table.

"It'd be less of a shithole if ye weren't such a fuckin' slob ya know," he said to Murphy.

"Alright Ma, I'm sorry," Murphy said with an angelic smile, displaying his middle finger at the same time. "Speaking of Ma though, do we call and tell her we're movin'?"

"Nah, she might not like it. We'll call and tell her after we get there." Connor and Murphy had long ago figured out that it was a lot easier to just do something and be forgiven than it was to get permission in the first place. As kids it was practically the wisdom they lived by.

"Well, let's go if we're goin'," said Murphy, standing up.

"It's fuckin' eleven o'clock already, ya dope, we're not goin' tonight," Connor said, pushing Murphy back down on the bed. "We still gotta pack up our junk, gas up the car and get locked at McGinty's one last time." He flopped down on his own bed and stretched out, kicking off his boots. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the table between the beds and took out two. He lit them and passed one over to Murphy.

"Right, we'll start on that tomorrow then," said Murphy, taking the cigarette and leaning back. A comfortable silence fell as they lounged on the uncomfortable beds and smoked.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry this took so long to update! Term papers hijacked my free time for a while._

Two days, a couple dozen beers and a fill of the gas tank later, the MacManus brothers were ready to make their move to New York City. Connor waited in the motel parking lot for Murphy to come out with the last of their stuff. 'Looks like rain,' he thought, wondering if the windshield wipers on their junky old car worked. He doubted it. Not much on the car did work. The back windows, for example. And the trunk. They'd never been able to open the trunk but since they had inherited the car from Roc they weren't sure they wanted to anyway. They had been unsure at first whether they should take possession of the car or if they should leave it on the off-chance that a long lost Della Rocco would show up to claim Roc's things but when they discovered in the glove box the car's long-expired registration card with someone's name on it they'd never heard of, they'd figured the car was theirs.

Connor moved to the front of the car to confirm that there were at least windshield wipers present on the vehicle. They drove so infrequently that he couldn't remember ever having needed them. Walking was their preferred mode of transportation but walking to New York City from Boston was not something they were willing to attempt. There were, to Connor's surprise, two intact wiper blades. He reached into the car through the window, turned the key a notch and flicked the wiper switch. Adding to Connor's surprise the wipers swiped neatly across the windshield in an arc and returned to their resting position. "Nice, aren't they?" said Murphy's voice behind him.

"Yeah, I didn't think they'd work," he replied, switching them off.

"Didn't," said Murphy, tossing the last duffel bag into the back seat. "I got some new blades when I filled the tank yesterday." He slammed the back door and walked around to the passenger side.

"Don't suppose ya picked up a map at the same time?" Connor said, getting in to the driver's seat.

"Nah, we can find it. It's pretty big, ya know. And it's that way," Murphy pointed in a south-westerly direction. Connor fired up the engine.

"Alright, but if we get lost, yer the one who's askin' the big hairy trucker fer directions."

They pulled out of the motel parking lot. It was about a four-hour drive to Manhattan. Connor hoped the car would make it.

"Wake me up when we get there," Murphy said, slumping down in his seat.

"Oh no, yer my navigator," Connor said, reaching over to swat his brother.

"Ye can get there fine," Murphy said, not opening his eyes.

Connor reached over to the radio and flipped it on, quickly twisting the volume knob to crank it up as high as it would go. Luckily, the last time they had been in the car Murphy had tuned the radio into some kind of polka station for some reason, and this added nicely to effect. As the music blared suddenly Murphy startled and sat up straight, eyes wide in surprise. "Ye fuck," he said, turning the volume way down and starting to flip stations. Connor laughed but immediately wished he hadn't introduced the radio this early in the ride. Murphy changing radio stations every three minutes was going to get old very quickly. To Connor's surprise, his brother landed on a variety station and settled back in his seat.

They rode on quietly for almost two hours, only breaking the comfortable silence occasionally to comment on the music and once to celebrate crossing into Connecticut. Not that Connecticut had any real meaning other than the fact that they had made it to the next state unscathed but it had been quiet a little too long and they were getting antsy. Soon a light rain started and Connor turned on the new windshield wipers. He glanced over at Murphy, who was once again slouched in his seat with his eyes closed. Connor was suddenly tempted to brake hard or swerve the car to wake him up. "Turronlise," Murphy mumbled, eyes still closed.

"What?"

"I said, turn on the headlights. And stop starin' at me like ye wanna jump my bones, ye fuck," Murphy answered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"I wasn't, ya moron, I was checkin' ta see if I needed ta smack ya and wake ya up."

"I wasn't asleep," Murphy protested.

"The fuck ya weren't, ye were practically snorin'."

"Fine, I'll go back ta sleep then, if yer gonna be mean," Murphy said with a small smile. Fighting on car trips was a tradition in their family.

"No ya won't, we're getting' close and I need ya ta watch and make sure I don't miss the exit."

The rain was coming down harder now, in large drops. Murphy, now fully awake, started changing radio stations again. The rain came even harder. Connor turned the wipers up. He thought they were getting close to New York state but none of the road signs seemed to indicate that. As they drove on, the rain began coming down so hard that the wipers could barely keep up.

"Do ya see the exit yet?" Connor asked his brother, who had ceased his radio tuning and was looking out the window.

"No. Wait, what exit was it?" Murphy asked, squinting in his attempt to see past the rain.

"86."

"Ummm. Back that way," Murphy gestured back the way they came from as the car whizzed past exit 93.

"Oh, excellent. Great job, co-pilot," Connor said, slowing the car down. He hadn't realized he was pushing 90 mph in such rainy conditions. Making an illegal turn around on a maintenance road, Connor headed back in the direction he came from. At least now Murphy was wide awake and helping him navigate.

Despite the small detour, it was less than four hours since leaving their motel that they made their way into Manhattan. The plan was to check in at the first cheap hotel they could find, relax a little and go from there. They had decided their best bet to find a cheap place to stay was to go off the beaten path, so Connor randomly took a side street away from the main hustle. A few minutes later, Murphy spotted a sign sticking off of an old, run-down looking building at the end of the next block that said simply, "Hotel". They headed towards it but were stopped at a red light. The light changed and Connor was about to go when Murphy made a noise of exclamation and grabbed his arm. "Look!" he said, pointing out the passenger side window. They had been stopped outside an old restaurant. The name of it, according to the sign that hung from the striped awning over the door, was Cavelli's.


	6. Chapter 6

Connor looked over at the restaurant. "If we drove four hours for some crappy Italian food I'm gonna be pretty pissed off."

"Aye, me too, I don't even like Italian food," Murphy agreed.

"Who're ya kiddin'? Ye like all food!" Connor laughed.

Cars behind him began to honk their horns so he stepped on the gas. He found a parking spot around the corner from the hotel and they went inside, hauling their bags along with them. A large man of questionable hygiene was sitting behind the shabby front desk. He was leaning forward with his bearded chin on his hands, elbows on the desk, watching a small TV. He didn't look up when they came in. The brothers glanced around the lobby, if you could call it that. It consisted of a small room with the front desk, a rundown sofa and a coffee table covered with old newspapers and food wrappers.

Connor approached the desk as Murphy pawed through the papers looking for a recent one. The plan was to stay at the hotel only until they could find an apartment that they could afford. Given that it might not be such an easy task they decided that they better start looking right away. Connor made his way to the desk slowly, hoping he'd catch the man's eye rather than have to interrupt his TV watching abruptly. No such luck. Connor walked up to the desk, placing one hand on it. The desk attendant still didn't look up from his TV. "Excuse me," Connor said.

"Yeah?" the attendant answered, eyes still on the screen.

"Uh, we'd like to get a room, if ye have any," Connor said.

"Hourly or nightly?" Still no eye contact.

Murphy had stopped perusing the papers and had come up to the desk just in time to hear that. He burst out laughing. Finally the attendant tore his eyes away from the screen and looked up at the two of them. He repeated the question. "Hourly or nightly?"

Connor was getting an unfriendly vibe from this man and didn't really want trouble just then, so he fought to keep a straight face despite Murphy laughing like an idiot beside him. "For the night, please," he said politely.

"It's $50 a night," the attendant said, grabbing a key from the peg board on the wall behind him.

They reserved the room for two nights, figuring they could probably get it for longer if their apartment hunt yielded no results by then. The attendant slid the key across the desk to Connor, raising his eyebrows. "Here you are, _Mr. Smith_," he said with a smarmy smile. At this, Murphy lost it completely and was still doubling over in laughter when they got to their room.

"Oh, it wasn't that funny, for fuck's sake," said Connor as he unlocked the door to room 17. The light switch was just inside the door and Murphy's laughter died away as Connor flicked it on. They had stayed in some pretty nasty rooms before, but this one just might win the prize. Considering the apartment in Boston they'd called home for several years, it took a lot to make a MacManus flinch at housing accommodations. The room looked neat enough from the doorway, meaning that there wasn't any actual trash or anything lying in plain sight and all the furniture was upright, but it just had that old dishrag quality to it; no matter how many times you wash it, it's still stained and smelly. Moving further into the room, Connor made to drop his bag on the floor.

"Don't put it there," said Murphy, looking down at the greasy carpet in disgust, "It might fuckin'…melt or somethin'."

Cigarette burns every few inches on the carpet matched the stale smell of smoke that hung in the air. The walls looked like they might have been white at one time but were now varying shades of brown and yellow with more mysterious patches here and there. The original color of the curtains was anyone's guess. Murphy set his own bag on top of the battered wooden dresser and approached one of the beds, eyeing the flowery bedspread warily.

"Do ye think anything's livin' in it?" he asked Connor, who was trying to balance his own bag on top of Murphy's. Actually, compared to the rest of the room, the beds looked remarkably clean. Probably housekeeping's main focus, thanks to those hourly rates. Connor walked over to the other bed. Reaching for the bedspread, he looked at his twin.

"Ready? On three," he said. Murphy took hold of his comforter. They counted in unison, "One…Two…Three!" and jerked back the blankets, to reveal clean white sheets and the actual scent of laundry detergent could very briefly be detected before the dank overpowered it again. "Well, that's a relief," Murphy said.

"Aye," Connor agreed.

Murphy sat on the edge of his bed and reached down to remove his boots but thought better of it. He glanced around uncertainly for a moment then his face lit up as an idea crossed his mind. Retrieving the newspaper that he had taken from the lobby, he pulled out the Classifieds section and set it aside. Then he separated the other pages and laid them on the floor making a path to his bed. Satisfied with his solution, he sat down again and took his boots off. Connor had been watching this feat of engineering and now shook his head in amusement. Murphy looked over at him.

"What, I only have one other pair of socks, I didn't wanna wreck these," he said.

Connor laughed. "Very inventive, Murph."

"Ye're just jealous ye didn't think of it first," Murphy retorted, tossing the rest of the newspaper at Connor. Luckily it had been a large issue. Connor was torn between admitting Murphy had had a good idea and risking his socks on the disturbingly greasy carpet but sanitation won out and Connor made his own little newspaper path. There was enough paper left that they could cover most of the carpet in the small room if they wanted to later. Connor fetched the Classified ads and began looking through the 'For Rent' section. "Nine hundred dollars a month…eight hundred dollars a month…fifteen hundred a month!? Ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin'!" Connor exclaimed.

"Ye know, if we wanted ta pay that much we could just stay on at this fine establishment," Murphy said.

"Fuckin' really. There's got ta be somethin' cheaper, it's just not listed here, I bet."

"Let's ask the guy at the desk if he knows anywhere, I think he took a fancy to ye."

"Shut it, Murph."

"Maybe he'd let ya move in with him, whattaya say, Mr. Smith?"

Connor grabbed a pillow and was about to throw it at his brother when he changed his mind and launched himself instead. Laughing, he playfully punched Murphy everywhere he could reach and Murphy fought back valiantly.

"Now calm yerself, Mr. Smith! The desk man'll hear all this racket and get jealous!" Murphy gasped out, his breath short from laughing. Connor relented his punching. He leaned back slightly and then threw himself forward. He hit Murphy around the middle with his full weight and the force of the impact knocked him off the bed, onto the floor. Fortunately, most of him landed on the newspaper shield but his left arm wasn't so lucky. It slipped down into the narrow space between the nightstand and the wall, and came to rest on something furry. With a noise of surprise Murphy quickly pulled his arm out.

"What the fuck is livin' back there!?" he said, disgusted, getting quickly to his feet.

Connor leaned over, still on the bed, trying to see. Bravely, Murphy moved his face closer to the crack to get a better view. Slowly, he reached his hand in toward what ever the furry thing was. Connor hoped it wasn't a rat. He had a particular dislike for rats after he had stepped on one barefoot one night in the alley near their apartment after a particularly heavy night of drinking. He was in the midst of an unpleasant rat flashback when Murphy screamed, "Oh my God, it bit me! It's on my hand!"

Connor jumped up, ready to club whatever it was that was latched onto his brother's hand when Murphy began to laugh. He pulled his arm out of the crack. He was holding an old dusty bedroom slipper. "Superhero Conn was ready ta save the day!" he laughed.

"Ha-fuckin'-ha. I thought ye were gonna get rabies or somethin'."

Murphy tossed the slipper into a corner. He sat on his bed. "Alright, fuck it, let's call Smecker. He wanted us ta come here, maybe he can help us track down a place ta stay or somethin'. I don't wanna be in this hotel any longer than we have ta be."

Connor nodded. He fished in his jeans pocket for a quarter and dropped it into the phone on his nightstand. He dialed the agent's cell number, which he had long since memorized. It rang a few times and then a voice at the other end said, "Hello?"

Connor recognized the voice immediately. "Hey Smecker, it's yer old friends from Boston," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

There was silence at Smecker's end of the phone line, then his sarcastic voice came through, "Well, I'm flattered you remembered my phone number, I was beginning to think you boys had forgotten me."

"Well, that'd be hard to do," Connor replied.

"Did your father make it back to Ireland safe and sound?" Smecker asked.

"I guess so, we're gonna give 'em a call later and see how things are goin'."

"Cut the small talk and get on with shit," Murphy said, sitting on the bed next to Connor. Apparently he had said it quite loudly because Smecker had heard it through the phone. He laughed.

"And what shit would your brother like to be getting on with?" the agent said, amused.

Connor sighed and rolled his eyes at his brother's abruptness. He held the phone out to Murphy.

"Hey, Smecker," Murphy said, after taking the phone.

"Why, hello, other young Boston friend. How are you this fine evening?"

"Great. Listen, we followed yer detective spy shite and we're sittin' here in a nasty hotel room wonderin' why the fuck we came." _Leave it to Murph to be delicate about things, _Connor thought.

Smecker laughed at Murphy's bluntness.

"I thought it was pretty obvious why I thought you should come," he said. Since they wanted Smecker's help, Murphy resisted any further rudeness, but Smecker correctly interpreted his silence. "OK, maybe not…"

"So, would ye care to explain?" Murphy was drumming his fingers against his knee in a way that Connor knew meant he was getting agitated. Connor grabbed the phone back from his brother. Smecker was in mid-sentence. "Sorry, could ye repeat that?" Connor said.

"What, are we playing hot potato with the phone?" Smecker said, amused.

"Somethin' like that."

Smecker laughed again. He was pretending to be difficult but actually was very happy to hear from them, and happier still that they had taken his hints and come to New York. "What I said was, I don't think we should go into detail right now, maybe we can meet somewhere and I'll fill you in."

"Yeah, sure. When?" Connor was glad they were finally getting somewhere. They'd been in New York for less than a day but he was anxious to get started. They'd been ignoring their calling for too long now.

"I have tomorrow afternoon off. Can you meet me somewhere?"

"Yeah."

"OK, do you know how to get to St. Patrick's Cathedral?"

"No."

"What?! I thought that'd be built into your genes or something," Smecker joked. Connor didn't respond. "OK, are you in Manhattan?"

"Yeah."

"Then you can probably find it. Just grab a tourist map or something, it's right near Rockefeller Center."

"OK."

"Alright, so meet me there at one and we'll go talk somewhere."

"OK."

"Alright. Now, it's past my bedtime so I'll see you tomorrow."

"See ya." Connor hung up the phone.

"So?" Murphy asked.

"We're gonna meet up with him tomorrow afternoon and he's gonna fill us in and all."

Murphy nodded. He took a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, lit it and offered it to Connor, who took it. He got another out for himself and moved to sit on his own bed. "Man's fuckin' irritatin'," he said, referring to Smecker.

"Aye, but we owe him a lot," Connor said, reclining.

"Yeah, well, after this venture we might fuckin' well be even. We chased off to New York on his dumb little hints. If it turns out he just wanted company or somethin' I'm fuckin' done."

"Nah, he sounded pretty serious, said he didn't wanna talk about it on the phone."

This seemed to satisfy Murphy somewhat. "Well, it better be good, then," he said. They finished their cigarettes quietly. "I wonder if there's anywhere ta get a beer around here," Murphy said.

"Probably, but ye'll be goin' on yer own. I'm fuckin' beat." Connor was stretched out on his bed and didn't intend to get up again for quite a while.

"It's only 8 o'clock!" Murphy protested.

"Yeah, and I drove us here while ye were takin' a nap."

Murphy stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Ye're goin' out then?" Connor asked, surprised. Never, in all his recollection, could he remember Murphy going to a bar without him. Perhaps leaving a bar without him on occasion, but they'd always begun their nights together.

"No," said Murphy, stuffing his feet into his boots, "I'm goin' ta ask yer loverboy at the desk where about I can buy a six pack so yer lazy ass doesn't have ta move."

"Oh. Carry on, then."

"Back in a few," Murphy said, leaving the room and Connor in relative quiet.

Connor could hear the sound of the television from the next room over. "Buy a vowel! Buy a fucking vowel!!" the room's occupant was shouting. Apparently the Wheel of Fortune contestant on TV chose not to take this guy's advice because the next thing Connor heard was, "You fucking retard!" followed by a loud crash. Connor chuckled to himself. Murphy occasionally threw an empty beer can at the TV when a contestant or character did something he didn't like but thankfully he had never resorted to knocking the TV over, which is what it sounded like the guy in the next room had done. Now the only sound Connor could hear was the traffic outside and some people making noises he'd rather not think about further down the hall.

He didn't really like this quiet. He was alone, a rare occurrence, and he found it unsettling. Murphy was alone, walking around in this strange city, in the dark. All because Connor hadn't felt like getting up. And he hadn't taken his gun. _He'll be right back, he's a big boy,_ Connor thought, embarrassed at his worrying. Still, it was too quiet. He found the TV remote and flipped the set on. A moment later a loud pounding at his door made him jump. He rushed to the door as the pounding repeated. "Yeah?" he said cautiously.

"What was the answer?" a man on the other side of the door demanded.

"Huh?" Connor said, confused.

"To the puzzle! Was it Dick Van Dyke?"

The fucking Wheel of Fortune watcher from next door.

"Uh, yeah," Connor replied. He hadn't actually noticed but figured the guy would be satisfied.

"I fucking told him so."

Connor could hear the man's footsteps retreating followed by the door slamming as he returned to his room. Connor sighed and went back to his bed, thoroughly hoping that Smecker would be able to help them find a new place to stay when they met up tomorrow. Wheel of Fortune ended and a stupid sitcom started, and Murphy wasn't back yet. Connor got up and walked to the window but the view consisted of the side of the next building. By the time the second commercial break started, Connor was starting to get nervous again. Murphy should've been back by now. As the sitcom's end credits started to roll, Connor grabbed his gun, stuffed it in the back waistband of his jeans and headed out to look for his brother. A few steps into the hall, he nearly collided with Murphy who was coming down the hall toward the room. In Murphy's hands were a plastic shopping bag and a pizza box, the latter of which he nearly dropped when he stopped short to avoid crashing into Connor. Reaching out to steady the pizza, Connor asked, "What the fuck took ye so long?"

Murphy frowned. "It hasn't been that long."

"It's been half a Wheel of Fortune and a Charles in Charge!" Connor said, holding the door to their room open and letting Murphy pass.

Murphy laughed. "I had ta walk about five fuckin' blocks, past a dozen bars ta get the fuckin' beer, and then I was hungry so I stopped and got a pizza." He set his purchases down on the table and removed his outerwear. Connor watched him, frowning.

"What?" said Murphy, looking up from untying his boots.

"Ye just took a long time, is all. I thought maybe ye got lost or somethin'…"

"Well, if ye must know," Murphy grinned, digging into the pizza, "The girl at the pizza place was kinda cute, so I stayed and chatted for a bit."

Connor laughed. Here he was worrying about his brother and dealing with an obsessive Wheel of Fortune fan and Murphy had been out chatting up the pizza girl. Connor grabbed a slice and a beer. "Where'd ye get it, anyway?" he said, gesturing at the box.

"That place on the corner, Cavelli's."

"Hmm, not bad. But not worth a four hour drive," Connor said, grinning. Having Murphy back in the room, he felt much more relaxed, and they spent the rest of the evening joking around and watching bad television.

* * *

Connor awoke suddenly. It was the middle of the night. A strange sound had jarred him from his sleep. It sounded almost like crunching. The first thought that crossed his sleep-clogged mind was that it was a rat, chewing on something. He stealthily reached down and grabbed one of his boots off the floor next to his bed. He stayed very still for a second and heard the sound again. He threw his boot hard in the direction of the sound and almost simultaneously there was the thud of it hitting something and Murphy's loud curse. Connor flipped the bedside light on to see Murphy standing near the foot of his bed, rubbing his jaw and looking very displeased.

"What the fuck did ye do that for! I was just goin' ta take a leak!" Murphy said angrily.

Connor burst out laughing as he realized the sound he had heard was not the rat he had imagined but actually Murphy trying to walk quietly across their newspaper trail on his way to the bathroom. Connor fell back on his pillow still laughing as Murphy strode from the room, still glowering.

"Hurry up, and get back ta bed, we've got stuff ta do tomorrow!" Connor called, shutting the light back off.


	8. Chapter 8

At 12:30, the MacManus brothers entered St. Patrick's Cathedral. It was quiet, dimly lit and mostly empty. "Should we be feelin' offended that he asked us to meet him here, of all places?" Connor whispered as they strolled slowly around, admiring the beautiful architecture.

"Nah, probably just thought we'd like to see it. Or subconsciously he's a bigot," Murphy answered, good-naturedly. They sat in a pew toward the back of the church. They didn't speak, just sat looking around and waited for Smecker to arrive. The agent came just on time, as the cathedral's bells were chiming one o'clock. He looked exactly as they remembered him; longish hair slicked back, khakis and a dress shirt. He came in through a side door, paused at the holy water basin and glanced around. When he spotted the MacManus brothers in their back pew, a smile broke out on his face. He strode over to them and shook their hands. "Good to see you boys," he said in a low voice.

"And you," they both replied separately.

"Why don't we go somewhere we can talk?" Smecker said quietly. Mass wasn't in session and there were only a few people straggling around – tourists, by the looks of them—but he felt like a church wasn't quite the place to talk business. The boys followed him back out the side door, pausing to cross themselves as they passed in front of the altar.

They emerged from the cathedral, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun.

"Buy you boys a cup of coffee?" Smecker said, beginning to walk away. They followed him, with Murphy giving a last glance back at the church. It had been a long time since they'd been to an actual mass, in their attempt to stay out of the public eye as much as possible. Connor put his hand on Murphy's shoulder. He was having the same thoughts as his twin. He missed going to church. It was something constant and comforting in their otherwise crazy lives. "We'll come back, or find another one," he said.

Murphy smiled. "As soon as we need to go to confession."

Up ahead, Smecker turned around. They had fallen several steps behind. "Coming?"

They hurried to catch up with him. A few minutes later they had settled in a small, dark coffee shop. There were only a few other patrons in the shop on this Tuesday afternoon and they were all absorbed in books or newspapers. A good place to talk business, if they ever got around to it.

"So, how was the trip up?" Smecker asked, sipping his latte.

Murphy glanced up from the massive amounts of sugar he was dumping into his coffee. "Rainy. And Conn was bein' cranky."

"Fuck you, I only got cranky after yer lazy arse fell asleep and we missed our exit." Connor grabbed the sugar shaker from Murphy and added a small amount to his drink. Smecker laughed and leaned back in his seat. "Now, play nice," he said.

It was clear that he wasn't in any hurry to get business done with, so Connor decided to indulge the detective with a little small talk. Wouldn't hurt to get further on his good side, Connor reckoned, since the man had proven he could come in quite handy at times. He asked about Smecker's new job and a little about the city. Murphy didn't say much but at least he didn't get agitated and demand they get on with it, either.

"So, did you call your parents?" Smecker asked, referring to the call Connor had said they would make the previous night. The question earned a simultaneous "Ah, fuck!" from both brothers.

"We fuckin' forgot," Connor said, shaking his head at his own forgetfulness.

"How could we forget ta call our own parents! We're scum!" said Murphy dramatically.

"Aye," Connor agreed. They really had forgotten. After Murphy's too-long outing, Connor's run-in with the Pat Sajak groupie and everything else, it had slipped both their minds.

"Tonight we will," Murphy said. He grabbed a pen that had been abandoned on their table and seized Connor's hand. 'CALL MA', he scrawled, in large capital letters, across the back of it. Connor jerked his hand away as he was finishing so the last A had a long tail that dragged off, joining it to Connor's 'Veritas' tattoo. Murphy laughed.

"That looks good, maybe ye should get that inked on permanently."

Normally Connor would use his newly decorated hand to thump Murphy in the head but since they were out in civilized society he restrained himself. A quiet fell at the table for a moment, small talk having run out, the Murphy leaned forward.

"All right, Smecker, so, what's goin' on?"

"So we come to that," Smecker said. He glanced around. Nobody was paying any attention to them. "OK, you got the envelope, so you knew to come here," he said.

"Yeah, but that's all we got from it," Murphy said.

"Well, you saw the clipping about those kids that died, right?"

Connor and Murphy both nodded.

"So, somebody was selling Ecstasy to those kids. Tainted Ecstasy, apparently," Smecker continued.

"That shit happens in every cit--" Murphy started to protest, but Smecker held up a hand to cut him off.

"You saw the other ones too? I wrote something on one of them?"

"Cavelli," Connor said quietly. Smecker nodded.

"He's the one selling it?" Murphy asked. He was starting to think they'd come all the way there to take out a drug dealer. Not that he minded taking out a drug dealer, especially one selling to kids, but he thought it was going to be something bigger. Smecker made a face.

"Not really. Well, not directly, anyway," he chucked, "It's a little more complex than that. Did you recognize the name?"

It was Connor's turn to make a face. "It rang a bell, but we couldn't figure out why."

"He was in the news a few years ago. The Boston news. Got himself in trouble for a few assaults but the charges got dropped because some moron mishandled the evidence or something. Any guesses who he was working for?"

Murphy's brow furrowed. The hint about the news had jogged his memory. He remembered reading about it. He hadn't been very interested at the time but for some reason the name had implanted itself in his brain. "The mafia. He beat up a couple of shop keepers, right?"

"Yep. A couple of Indian store owners, and one of their wives," Smecker replied.

That's why Murphy remembered. He had been outraged that anyone would attack that poor old woman, no matter what her husband had done.

"Specifically, do you know whose crew he was part of?"

Suddenly, it all clicked. The name written on the article about the Yakavetta trials. Cavelli had been working for the mafia. Connor slapped his hand to his forehead. "He was one of Yakavetta's?"

"No! Was he really?" Murphy exclaimed, disgusted at their own thickness.

Smecker laughed. "I wrote the name directly on the article, how much more of a sledge-hammer hint did you want?"

Murphy shrugged. "I guess we thought there was more detective bullshit involved than there really was."

Connor frowned. They had thought of the possibility of a mob connection, but he felt sure that if this Cavelli guy was anyone important to them they would've recognized the name right away. "What was he then, a soldier or something? I'm pretty sure we got to know all of Yakavetta's underbosses at some point," he said.

Murphy nodded. "Yeah, Da didn't miss any that night, we triple checked the house," he said, referring to the fateful night at Yakavetta's house. The night they had lost Rocco. The night they had been reunited with their father. Lost one, gained another. But now they were back down to two, like things always had been.

"Ah, not quite. We didn't miss any at the house, true. But not all of Yakavetta's underbosses were actually at the house that night. Cavelli was apparently off on vacation somewhere. Florida, I think. Somebody tipped him off to what happened up there and he took off instead of coming home," Smecker said.

"Fuckin' coward," Murphy mumbled.

"Yeah, real dedication to the organization," Connor said.

"Right," Smecker continued, "And then when Yakavetta went on trial, of course he wasn't gonna come back, so he lammed it for a few more months, and from what I can tell, made his way down here and set up shop."

"So what'd he do, hang up recruitment posters or somethin'?" Murphy said.

Smecker chuckled. "Basically. It looks like he was joined by a few of his men later, and the rest of the crew must be made up of local guys. I'm still working on that part, actually."

The brothers were quiet. It was upsetting, almost insulting, to find out that one of Yakavetta's captains had gotten away. Not only had he gotten away, but he hadn't even learned a lesson from his close call. The greedy bastard just moved to a new city and picked up an easier line of work. That wouldn't stand. Murphy glanced around to make sure their conversation was still private. "So you want us to take this guy out?" he asked.

"Well, no, not right away," Smecker said, "I mean, _I'd_ like you to do him today, don't get me wrong, but he's one of my main cases at the moment. He may not be the top rung, know what I mean? There might be more we can find out first."

The boys nodded, almost grudgingly. Suddenly they were both itching to find this man and finish the job they'd started a year ago, but they understood where Smecker was coming from. Then a strange thought hit Connor. "If this is one of your big cases, why are you tellin' us? Shouldn't ye be worried about jeopardizin' yer job or somethin'?"

Smecker smirked. "Actually, I haven't really told you anything that wasn't already public knowledge. Well, except that it's one of my cases. Everything else, you boys came up with on your own. You just needed a little prodding."

Murphy laughed. "Very sneaky."

"Thanks. Besides, I told you before, I believe in what you're doing. You two are doing what everyone else wishes they had the balls to do. What needs to be done. If my part in the overall scheme involves a little jeopardizing, so be it." Smecker laughed and drained his cup. "Not to mention, if this guy happens to be killed after I get the info I need, it'll save me a lot of pesky paperwork."

Connor raised his mug. "Cheers to that."

"Aye!" Murphy agreed, laughing. They finished their drinks. Smecker looked down at the table and mumbled something in a low voice.

"What's that?" said Connor.

Smecker looked up. He smirked again. "Now, we just have to find out where he is."

* * *

_AN: I can't believe it took me so long to update this! Blame it on finals. Thanks so much to everybody that's reviewed and has been reading so far. I promise, more timely updates now that I'm done with the semester!_


	9. Chapter 9

Murphy placed his hand on the doorknob of apartment 415. The building was a little outdated, and rather ugly, but clean. They'd gone up four flights of stairs and down the wrong hallway before ending up outside the right door. He shifted the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder and twisted the knob. It was unlocked. With a slight push, the door swung slowly open, exposing a living room dimly lit by one window. A sofa and a coffee table were the only furniture they could see from the doorway.

"Just fuckin' go in!" Connor said, shoving him from behind.

"Aww, way to ruin the moment, Conn."

Connor nudged him with the bags he was carrying. "Ye can have a moment openin' one o' the other doors, these are fuckin' heavy."

He walked past Murphy into their new apartment. Smecker had tracked it down for them. The building owner was the sister of one of his co-workers, so she had cut them a deal on the rent – "As long as you behave yourselves," she had said – but they suspected it had more to do with her obvious interest in Smecker, which they'd all had a laugh about after she handed over the keys and left. Connor dropped the bags on the living room floor and looked around. It was small but neat, the living room adjacent to a kitchen, two closet-sized bedrooms ("cute" as the owner had put it) and a bathroom with a creaking door that Murphy was now pushing open dramatically and with delight.

'Not a bad place at all," Connor thought. In fact, the apartments they'd lived in in the past made this place look like a palace. He didn't even want to think about some of the motels they'd been in. The most recent one was far from the worst. He sat down on the sofa and sighed. He hated moving in to a new place. There was always a lot to do, even if, like them, you didn't have many possessions. The place was mostly furnished but there were no mattresses on the bed frames, so they'd have to go buy some or sleep on the floor, and they'd need a TV or some other distraction to help them wind down after a rough day. Then there was that whole pesky food shopping thing that needed to be done.

Murphy emerged from the bathroom having found no hidden enemies to battle. "Not bad, huh?" he said, joining Connor on the sofa.

"Looks like an actual place to live, for once," Connor replied. Murphy laughed and put his feet up on the coffee table. Connor was briefly torn between telling him to put them down and doing the same thing, but the latter won out because it looked comfortable.

"Hey, wasn't there a payphone in the lobby?" Murphy asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah, I think I saw one, why?"

"We gotta call Ma," Murphy said, getting up.

"Ah. Right," Connor said, raising his hand where he'd tried to scrub off Murphy's writing but hadn't fully succeeded. He followed his twin from the apartment, locking the door behind them. They didn't have a lot of stuff, but bags of guns and loose cash would be an appealing prize for any burglar.

Down in the lobby, Murphy dropped a handful of coins into the phone and dialed just as many numbers. "What time is over there?" he asked as he waited for the call to connect.

"Uh…Six-ish, I think. They should be home. Not pub time yet," Connor said, making a mental note to buy a clock for their apartment.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered on the other end.

"Hey, Ma," Murphy said tentatively, anticipating the scolding that he knew was coming.

"Oh my Lord! Is that my Murphy?! Alive and well and callin' his mother! And not lyin' dead in a gutter next ta his brother like he'd have me think?!"

Murphy laughed. Only their mother could be that sarcastic and still make you feel guilty all at once. "Yeah, Ma, how are ye?" he said, deciding to try and ignore her faked dramatics.

"Survivin' well, not that ye care," she said.

"We've been meanin' ta call, we've just been really busy."

"Right, too busy ta call yer own mother who gave ye live and raised ye," she teased.

Murphy covered the receiver with his hand. "She's in rare form today," he whispered, handing the phone to Connor despite his protests.

"Hello, dear Mother," Connor said into the phone.

"Oh bless me, is Connor still alive as well?"

"Luckily, Ma. We would've called ye sooner but Murph just woke up from a coma after getting' hit by a bus downtown," he said, as seriously as possible. There was silence at their mother's end for a moment.

Then, "Ye're fuckin' with me, right?" she exclaimed.

Connor grinned. "Yeah, but that puts it all inta perspective, doesn't it?" he laughed.

At the other end their Ma whooped with laughter. "Alright, ye bastard. So what's new?"

Connor talked to her for a few more minutes, conveniently leaving out the part where they'd relocated to New York, before he dropped a few more coins into the slot and passed the phone back to Murphy, who also endured her motherly questioning for a few minutes ("Have you been eating? Praying? Seeing anyone?" etc.). When she was assured that her sons were, in fact, alive and healthy, Mrs. MacManus passed the phone to her husband.

"Hello, boys, doing well?" he said.

"Yeah, we're fine," Murphy answered.

"Glad ta hear it." Their father was a man of few words.

"Ye know that envelope our friend gave ye before ye left?"

"Aye."

"Well, we opened it and all, and we're um, in New York."

"Alright. And ye know what ye're doin'?"

"Pretty much," Murphy replied, a slight exaggeration.

"OK. Let me say hello ta yer brother."

Murphy passed the phone to Connor again. "Hey, Da," Connor said.

"Hi, son. Ye be careful there, alright?" their father said. Connor got the impression he was speaking in non-specifics on purpose, meaning that their mother was probably still in the room and had no idea what her family had been up to while they were away from her.

"We will." The phone began beeping, indicating that their time was almost up.

"Then we'll be talkin' to ye another time."

"OK. Hey, Da?"

"Aye?"

"Can ye tell Ma we moved ta New York, cuz we forgot ta and our time's up," Connor said quickly.

"Thanks, I'd love ta," Da replied sarcastically.

"Thanks. Bye now," Connor said, hanging the phone up as the call was cutting out. He turned away from the phone. Murphy was laughing.

"That was mean. She's gonna flip," he said.

"Yeah, well, he fuckin' shot us both that time. Now we're even," Connor said, grinning, "Now, we better go shoppin'."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, "We need beer. And Froot Loops."


	10. Chapter 10

The MacManus brothers were getting restless. It had been almost a week since their initial meeting with Smecker and they hadn't heard anything from him since. Although it had been pretty entertaining to explore New York for a few days, they were ready to get on with it.

They were sitting now in their apartment, early afternoon. Connor tossed aside the newspaper he'd been glancing through. "This waiting's killin' me," he said, repeating the sentiment that had been expressed often these past few days. Murphy looked up from the small kitchen table where he was cleaning his gun for about the tenth time that week.

"Alright, fuck it," he said, sliding the magazine into place, "Let's go." He stood up.

"Go where? Smecker hasn't told us anything more, remember?"

"So, I'm sick of waitin' around, let's go see what we can find out on our own."

Connor stayed on the sofa. "And what do ye propose we do, Sherlock? Go around and ask people who's got drugs and where they got 'em?"

"Ye can do that, I'm thinkin' that pizza place we found the first night's a good place ta start," Murphy said, getting agitated.

"Cause it happens ta share the guys name?" Connor said, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm tellin' ya, Conn, I got a feelin' about that place. When I went in there…it just seemed…shady," Murphy said, walking over to Connor. Connor didn't respond. It seemed like a really long shot but Murphy's hunches, scarily enough, often turned out to be right. "Seriously, we should go have a look around. What if it is the same guy?" Murphy pressed on.

"Dontcha think Smecker woulda mentioned that, if the top guy hangs out at a pizza shop all day?"

"Well, of course he's not hangin' around there, ye retard, but there might be somethin' else to it. Lotsa these mob guys have legitimate businesses too, as a front or some shit like that." Murphy was standing right in front of Connor now, looking quite adamant.

"Alright," Connor conceded, "but we're only goin' in ta gather information, no shootin' the place up."

Murphy sighed. "Fine, have it yer way."

They decided to walk, since the pizza place wasn't too far away. On the way they passed by the hotel where they'd spend their first two nights in New York. "Wanna stop in and say hi to yer desk attendant pal?" Murphy teased, shoving Connor toward the door as they went by.

"Fuck you," Connor laughed, shoving him back. Murphy was caught off balance and stumbled into the path of another man walking in the other direction.

"Hey, watch it!" the man said angrily, stepping aside so Murphy didn't bump into him.

"Sorry," Murphy said.

"Fucking right you are," the man replied, walking away. Murphy looked back over his shoulder at the man who was apparently in quite a hurry, then at Connor. Connor shrugged in response.

"Must be feelin' cranky," Murphy said with a shrug of his own.

At Cavelli's, Connor went to choose a table while Murphy ordered their slices. No reason they couldn't have some lunch while doing their recon. Murphy walked up to the counter.

"Hi. Back again?" the girl working behind the counter said, smiling brightly.

"Yeah," Murphy said, very surprised she remembered him. The girl correctly interpreted his confused tone.

"We don't get a lot of new customers in here, just regulars, so a fresh face always stands out," she explained.

"Ah, I see. I thought maybe I was special," Murphy said. At his nearby table Connor rolled his eyes.

"Same as last time?" she asked, still smiling.

_Pretty girl, but obviously dumb if she was flirting with Murph,_ Connor thought.

"Actually, I'll just take a couple o' slices fer now," Murphy replied, smiling back at her. "We're gonna hang out a while."

_Oh for crying out loud, this is almost nauseating._

"OK, they'll be up in just a minute if you want to grab a seat," the girl said, putting two slices in the oven to warm up. Murphy wandered over to the table Connor had chosen and sat down.

"Layin' it on a little thick there, aren't ye?" Connor asked, amused.

Murphy shrugged. "Doesn't hurt ta gain the trust of the locals," he said, glancing back toward the counter.

"Yeah, gain her trust, is that what they're callin' it now?"

"So what do ye make of the place?" Murphy asked, obviously ready to change the subject.

Connor sat quietly for a moment. The place did have a sort of feel to it. Shady, as Murphy had rightly put it. Connor was still skeptical, though. The whole neighborhood seemed pretty iffy. He was about to say this when the girl appeared at their table with their food.

"Oh, thanks," Connor said, surprised by her sudden appearance.

"See what great service we have here at Cavelli's East?" she said jokingly, setting the food down.

"East? There's another?" Connor said.

"Yup, East and West. Ooh, are you two related?" she asked, noticing Connor's accent.

"Yeah, we're brothers," Murphy answered her.

"Ooh, really? Who's older?"

The MacManus brothers looked at one another, each silently daring the other to claim he was eldest. Before either could answer, though, the phone behind the counter rang and the girl hurried off to answer it. When she was far enough away, Connor whispered, "I wanna find out about the west store, if this owner guy is wealthy enough ta have two stores maybe there is somethin' ta this after all."

Murphy nodded his agreement, mouth too full of pizza to respond otherwise.

The girl didn't come back over to chat, somewhat to Connor's relief. She was a shade too perky for his tastes. Another customer had entered the store after she had finished on the phone, so Connor and Murphy just took in their surroundings while they ate.

The other customer had taken his order to go and the restaurant had been quiet again for a few minutes when a couple more men entered. They glanced around, frowning, then approached the counter. The cashier girl apparently recognized them and smiled. Immediately their demeanor changed. They suddenly went from glaring around hostilely to acting rather friendly.

"Hey, hon, the old man around today?" one of them asked.

She shook her head. "Nope, I didn't see him today. Wish he would've let me know where he was gonna be, though, one of the delivery boys didn't show up for his shift and the handwash sink is leaking again and somebody else was asking about him earlier and--"

"Alright, thanks anyway," the man said abruptly, cutting her off. He turned to leave and his partner, who hadn't said a word, followed. As the two men walked past their table, glaring, Connor noticed the distinct tell-tale bulge of a concealed gun at the silent one's waist. He nudged Murphy's foot with his under the table and Murphy nodded, having noticed it also.

They finished their pizza quickly, not wanting to talk about what they'd seen in public. As Murphy returned their tray to the cashier girl, he got an idea. "Say, what's the address of yer west side joint?" he asked casually, "We're gonna be over that way tomorrow and we'll probably be hungry." She smiled once again.

"Here, take this," she said, handing him a business card. "Buy five slices, sixth one's free! The addresses are right on there. And phone numbers. We deliver."

"Well, thank ye very much. I'm sure we'll be seein' ye," Murphy said, stuffing the card into his back pocket.

Once they were outside, Murphy and Connor walked about a block away from the pizza place and turned a corner. They stopped and Murphy pulled the card out of his pocket. There on the card were the addresses and phone numbers of both places, as promised. Below these was printed, Vincent Cavelli, Owner.

"Vincent? Is that the guy?" Connor asked, suddenly confused.

"Umm," Murphy bit his lip, unsure.

With a sinking feeling, they realized that Smecker had never given them a first name, only the last name 'Cavelli'. With the greasy pizza sitting heavily in their stomachs, they began to walk back to their apartment, feeling dejected.

"Look on the bright side, if we gotta go back there for information a few more times, we'll have us a free pizza," said Murphy, stuffing the card back in his pocket.


	11. Chapter 11

The MacManus brothers sat at their usual table, free slices of pizza in front of them. Connor frowned down at the greasy yellowish triangle.

"I'm so fuckin' sick of this shite I could scream," he said quietly to his brother.

"Aye, I'm getting' a little bit tired of it myself," Murphy agreed, taking an unenthusiastic bite.

Several more trips back to Cavelli's had yielded nothing but free slices and a near overdose of the cashier girl's perkiness. Leah—as she had introduced herself on their third visit after suddenly realizing with horror that she had never given them her name—never failed to have a story about her cat or some other equally thrilling topic ready to share with them when they came in. She also, apparently, either worked every day or it was just their luck to come in on days she was there. They still treated her nicely and were quite pleasant but by this point Murphy had decided her moderately good looks were overshadowed by her grating personality and (mercifully for Connor) had stopped flirting with her. She didn't seem to notice, however, and still smiled her lips off and giggled at them every visit.

Returning to the less insanity-inducing atmosphere of their apartment after their latest trip to Cavelli's, the brothers conferenced.

"So whatta ye think, we try the other one tomorrow?" Connor asked, taking two beers out of the fridge.

"Yeah, 'cause Leah can't be two places at once," Murphy laughed, catching the beer Connor tossed to him. Connor opened his beer and sat down on the sofa.

"Two weeks we've been goin' there and what've we learned?" he asked, exasperated.

"Looks don't make up fer lack of brain activity?"

"I mean _really_," Connor frowned. Murphy sat on the other end of the couch.

"That the head honcho prefers the other joint," he offered, taking a sip.

"Aye, or somewhere else altogether." Several times they had witnessed people enter the pizza shop and ask to see "the old man", "the boss" or some other dumb, trying-to-sound-friendly title, only to be told that he wasn't in. After the second time this had happened Murphy was ready to head over to the other store but Connor wanted to stick around and see if they could get any information out of Leah. After yet another unsuccessful day, though, they were ready to chalk her up as a lost cause and move on. Connor sighed.

"So in other words, we've been on this case fer a month and we haven't got any more of a fuckin' clue of what's goin' on than we did when we started. And I think I've gained five fuckin' pounds from eatin' all that greasy pizza!" He crushed his empty beer can in his fist.

"Temper, temper, Connor," Murphy teased.

"Ah, fuck you," Connor said, throwing the crumpled can at his brother. Murphy deflected it while draining his own can which he then threw at Connor. He hadn't bothered to crush it so it didn't fly properly and missed, landing instead on the coffee table. Connor watched it land then leaned back in his seat, frustrated. This recent lack of progress was really getting to him. He closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, Murphy, who was disappointed in Connor's failure to let the can fight escalate, got up and wandered into the small kitchen. Connor could hear him rummaging around in the next room and wondered how he could possibly be hungry after the pizza but didn't bother asking. He had other things on his mind. As their little stakeouts at Cavelli's had begun dragging on he had begun to wonder whether they were wasting their time. Yes, this Cavelli was a bad man that deserved to die, but while they were wasting their time playing detectives there were countless other evil men walking free. Shouldn't they focus on these things that were crying out for their immediate attention and leave all this investigation business to Smecker and his men? It was their job, after all. Connor opened his eyes, about to voice his thoughts, to see Murphy standing next to his seat.

"What the—"Connor's half formed question was interrupted by a shower of empty, dirty beer cans and then the cardboard box that had held them.

Murphy grinned triumphantly.

Swearing loudly in Italian, Connor launched himself at his twin, catching him around the waist and knocking him down. Laughing, he seized the filthy, smelly box and gave Murphy several solid whacks to the head with it and then stood up. Murphy remained on the floor, laughing.

"Smells like ass," he said, making a face.

"What I was about ta say before ye pulled that trick," Connor said, dropping the box onto Murphy's chest, "Was don't ye think we might better leave all this investigatin' ta the real detectives and get on with actually takin' out some bad guys?"

From his position on the floor, Murphy frowned up at Connor. Changing a plan midway through was something that was usually reserved for emergencies, when something had gone really wrong. This one had been unproductive so far, but it hadn't blown up in their faces. Besides, he had been having a good record with his hunches about this one so far. He got to his feet.

"Nope. This is important. We're goin' ta Cavelli's West tomorrow and see what's up there. Then we decide what's next." He crossed his arms with an air of finality.

"When the fuck did you get put in charge?" Connor asked, amused.

"When I was born first," Murphy said, trying to keep a straight face. "Now clean this place up, it's a pig sty."


	12. Chapter 12

_Cavelli's West was clearly the place to be_, Murphy thought as he and Connor sat across the street from the pizzeria, watching people go in and out. They had been sitting at the bus stop on the other side of the street for about 15 minutes and had seen at least 20 people stop by. Probably as many as the east side place saw all day, it seemed.

To be more accurate, it was Murphy who was doing all the watching. Connor, disenchanted with the current project, had picked up a discarded newspaper and sat looking at it instead. Murphy was slightly annoyed at this. He still had a strong gut feeling about this mission and Connor's lack of enthusiasm was making any possibility for success more remote.

As Murphy continued his observation, he noticed that nearly all the customers were taking their orders to go. They hadn't been inside yet so he wondered if maybe there was no seating. Some seemed to stay much longer than others, however, so maybe there was seating after all. Then another detail stuck out to him. The customers were made up almost entirely of high school aged kids and middle aged men. A lack of women was definitely something he was apt to notice. Also, it seemed to be the older men who were staying a while and the teenagers who were quickly in and out.

"Hey Conn, are ye payin' attention at all?" Murphy said.

"Mmmm…nope," Connor replied, turning a page.

"Well, look. All these kids are right in and out and the older guys are takin' longer. Don't ye think it'd be th'other way round and the kids'd wanna hang about?"

Connor looked up from his newspaper and watched for a few minutes, though obviously uninterested. After several customers had come and gone, he said, "Well, look, all the kid's are comin' out with slice boxes and the old guys keep comin' out with whole pizzas. Whole ones take longer ta make."

"Oh. Good point," Murphy said, disappointed. He thought he had been on to something. "Well, wait, how bout this? No women."

"Huh?" Connor said, having returned to his paper.

"It's all a buncha kids and guys goin' in, I haven't seen any women."

Connor shrugged. "It is three in th'afternoon, Murph. What woman do ye know that wants a pizza at this time a day?"

Murphy frowned, crossing his arms. He knew Connor was doubting this mission but he didn't need to have such tidy explanations for all of Murphy's ideas. That was just rude. Murphy was quiet for a while and began to think that just maybe Connor was right, and there wasn't anything to this after all.

"Ah, what the fuck!" Connor exclaimed suddenly. He had turned the newspaper page to find large wads of gum stuck all over the next sheet. "I wanted ta read that article, too," he said, dropping the paper in disgust.

Murphy glanced down at the paper. The full page article was mostly covered by the sticky pink mess but from what he could make out, another kid from one of the nearby high shools and two college students had all died over the weekend after attending a party and people were beginning to panic over a "drug-use epidemic."

Murphy stood up, discouraged and angry. Even if this Cavelli guy was up to something shady, there were still tons of other scumbags walking free while they were wasting their time on this one. "Fuck it, let's go home, I'm sick of this," he said.

"Halle-fuckin'-lujah. My arse was fallin' asleep sittin' on this bench," Connor said, getting up and leading the way to their car, which they'd parked a few blocks away.

Murphy was quiet on the drive back to their apartment. He stared out the passenger side window. He wanted to tell Connor he was ready to give up and move on to something else but that old gut feeling was preventing it. Connor slowed the car down. They were still a few blocks from the apartment.

"Ye're not parkin' here, are ye?" Murphy asked.

"No, look at that," Connor said, pointing in front of them.

Two police cars were parked in the street ahead of them, lights flashing. Several more were visible beyond them. A uniformed officer approached their car.

"Ya gotta go back the other way, fellas. This block's closed off," he said, pointing them away.

As Connor turned the car around, Murphy looked past the cop. Bright yellow police tape was strung between light posts and crisscrossed over the doorway of Cavelli's East, marking it off as a crime scene.

"What do ye think happened, robbery?" asked Murphy, turning in his seat to look back at the pizza shop. Connor shook his head.

"I don't think a robbery would take this many cops ta work on." As he spoke another squad car passed them on its way to the scene.

A few blocks later, Connor parked the car. Heading into their apartment building they paused and looked down the street toward Cavelli's, a few blocks away. The flashing lights of the police cars were visible from where they stood.

"Wish we could find out what happened," Murphy said.

"Aye, me too, but I'm not really willin' ta go mingle with a buncha cops. That whole…killin' a buncha people thing."

"Ah, right. It's been so long I nearly forgot."

They headed inside to their apartment.

"Turn on the TV, maybe there's somethin' about it on the news," said Connor.

Murphy obliged, using the buttons on the set to flip channels, the remote having been broken against a wall after flying dangerously close to his head a few days ago. "No news on right now," he concluded after a rapid look through the channels.

"Probably wouldn't be on anyway," Connor said, "Too much goes on ta have reports about every little crime." He joined Murphy on the sofa anyway, deciding that the Godzilla movie that was showing on the TV would be a welcome distraction from their frustrating day.

A loud knocking on the door soon interrupted their viewing. Murphy went to answer it, tucking his gun into the back of his pants out of habit along the way. He peered through the peephole on the door and then opened it. There stood Paul Smecker, looking none too pleased.

"Hey, what's goin' on around here?" Murphy asked, standing aside to let Smecker in.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Smecker sharply, striding into the apartment. "Care to explain?" He threw several polaroids down on the coffee table. Amongst the various pools of blood and dead bodies in the photos were two black ski masks and some shiny pennies.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Murphy looked down at the photos, his mouth forming an "O" of surprise.

"Whoa, hey, we didn't—"

"Hey, what the fuck!" Connor exclaimed.

Having been looking at the grisly photos upside down from the other side of the table, it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. Murphy rubbed his hand over his chin, still looking at the photos.

"That's down at Cavelli's?" he asked needlessly. The green plastic booths and yellow and white checkerboard floor, though now blood spattered, were unmistakable.

"Yep," said Smecker evenly, watching the brothers.

"You think we did that?!" Connor demanded, pointing at the pictures.

"Well, the ski masks, pennies on the eyes, five bodies, all low-level dealers…evidence points towards the Saints," Smecker said calmly.

"But we were across town all day!" Murphy said.

"Has anyone besides you said they suspected us?" Connor asked, concerned. Having to go back into hiding was not on his agenda.

Smecker gathered up the photos slowly. "Not that I've heard. As far as I know, I'm the only one around here that would recognize your M. O."

"Did ye mention it ta anyone?" Murphy asked.

"No. I wanted to come hear your side of the story first," Smecker replied, tucking the photos back into his jacket. Connor frowned.

"There is no 'our side o' the story,' Smecker. It wasn't us."

Murphy nodded his agreement. "Aye, we couldn't even figure out if anything was goin' on down at that joint."

Smecker laughed humorlessly. "Oh, something's going on, all right. Cavelli's got himself a little distribution company set up, we're pretty sure."

Murphy nodded, looking across the table at Connor. "Told ya so," he mouthed silently.

"The packages we found on the dead dealers down the street had the same logo on them as some we pulled off a guy we brought in for dealing a few days ago," Smecker continued. "Logo's sort of a wonky version of Cavelli's family crest, cocky bastard."

He zipped up his jacket, getting ready to leave.

"Wait, you believe it wasn't us, don't ye?" Murphy said, touching Smecker's arm. Smecker nodded.

"If you guys say it wasn't you, it wasn't you. I have no reason not to trust your word."

The brothers both silently breathed a sigh of relief. If the cops here in New York were going to be looking for them, they would have had to make sure they weren't found. Neither of them was willing to have to spend all their time holed up in motels or going out solo for supplies like they had before leaving Boston.

"Thanks, Smecker, that means a lot," Connor said sincerely.

The agent nodded again. "That doesn't mean somebody else won't come up with the theory that you guys are at it again, though. You know how good a news story that would make?" Smecker spread his hands as though outlining a newspaper headline. "Saints of South Boston Relocate, New York Scum Beware!"

"Fuckin' great," said Murphy, making a face.

"I better get going, I told my squad I was running a personal errand," Smecker said. He walked to the door and paused. "Obviously we're going to try to figure out who did this, but you'd probably better lie low for a while, especially around here. If people realize you're around, it could get messy."

"Right, thanks," is what Connor said. "Creative string of curses," is what he thought.

Lying low. Almost a dirty phrase. They were always very subtle and secretive, of course, but "lying low" implied hiding and doing nothing…

"OK, see you later then," Murphy was saying, shutting the door behind Smecker. He walked over to Connor, who was still standing near the table.

"Conn?" Murphy said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Y'alright?"

Connor looked at him. "This isn't good, Murph."

"I dunno, maybe it's not so bad, someone else takin' up the cause. Roc kept sayin' we needed ta recruit, remember?" He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "Want one?"

Connor didn't answer. He was thinking again. Murphy grabbed a second can, set it in front of Connor and took his own back to the couch with him.

"We need somethin' dark, this shit's passable at best," he commented, "know what'd be good, some o' that chocolate stout…"

"Do ye even care about what's just happened?" Connor asked sharply.

"Someone's bitin' our style. Coulda been a bit more creative but what're ye gonna do?"

Connor finally grabbed his beer and joined Murphy in the living room.

"Yeah, ye knucklehead, if someone's goin' around pretendin' ta be us, that means the cops are gonna be lookin' fer us, they won't think it's someone else."

Murphy considered this for a moment. "But they left their masks at the scene, they can just test 'em and they'll know it wasn't us."

"Yeah, if we're lucky enough that whoever cleaned up at Cavelli's has their DNA on file. Otherwise we're still gonna be prime suspects. They don't have ours, remember?"

"Fuck. Who knew coverin' our tracks would come back and bite us in the ass!" Murphy exclaimed.

"Wouldn'ta guessed," said Connor.

"Think maybe Smecker can sneak some of our DNA inta the system so they'll know we don't match the Cavelli's killers?" Murphy suggested.

"Nah, I think he's risked his job about enough fer us already, we couldn't ask him ta do that," Connor said.

"I know, I was only jokin'. Besides, putting our DNA in their files voluntarily, that's just stupid."

Connor nodded his agreement. They sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking their beer. Then Murphy broke the silence.

"Hey Conn, what if whoever made that mess down at Cavelli's wasn't just tryin' ta copy us? What if they wanted it to look like it really _was_ us that did it?" he said thoughtfully.

Connor considered the idea for a moment. There _were_ reasons why someone might want to do that – throwing the cops off their own trail by giving them someone else to focus on, maybe. Or someone else wanting to join in the mission but too scared to take credit for it.

"If that's the case, whoever it is must know we're here, it can't be that big of a coincidence that it'd go down so close by," he said.

"True," Murphy agreed, "But who knows we're here? Smecker…Da and Ma…"

Connor laughed. "Ma was likely ta flip when she found out we moved here but I don't think she'd frame us fer murder ta get back at us," he said.

Murphy laughed, too. "Yeah, besides, she wouldn't know about the pennies and stuff. Unless Da told her…why, the bastard!"

"Murph, I don't think our own parents are behind it."

"Ya never know, they're pretty devious. Ye remember that time Ma called us on the phone and pretended she was gonna shoot herself?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up," Connor laughed.

"_This_ is fucked up," said Murphy.

"Aye."

For the next few hours the MacManus brothers kept an eye on the television, hoping the newscast would give them some information.

"Guess it's a good sign that nothin's showin' up, right?" Murphy said, again, after another hour of NY1 ended and no mention had yet been made of the Cavelli's incident.

Connor nodded, getting up to stretch his legs. Sitting in front of the TV for so long was giving him cramps.

As he wandered toward the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. He grabbed his gun from his duffel bag and, holding it behind his back, went to the door. He glanced through the peephole.

"S'only Smecker," he said over his shoulder to Murphy. For the past few hours, every time they had heard someone pass in the hallway their attention had perked up, half expecting police officers to show up and arrest them. Connor opened the door and Agent Smecker stepped inside quickly, looking harassed.

"This isn't going well," he said by way of a greeting. Connor sat at the table and gestured for Smecker to do the same. Murphy joined them, stopping at the fridge along the way.

"Wanna beer?" he asked generally.

"Nah," Connor replied. It was mid-day and they'd already had several each. Murphy stared at him for a moment in shock, then offered one to Smecker.

"Oh, I guess I better not," Smecker replied, looking sorely tempted.

"Oh, come one," Murphy coaxed, slowly waving the can. "I'll look like a degenerate if I'm the only one drinkin'."

"Sorry ta break it to ye, Murph, but that's not what's doin' it," Connor teased.

Murphy shrugged. "Alright then." He opened one and joined them at the table.

The brothers looked at Smecker expectantly.

"So, like I said, this investigation isn't going well so far. No witnesses at all. Or at least none that are willing to admit they saw anything," Smecker said.

"Middle o' the day and nobody saw anything? Right," Connor snorted.

Smecker shook his head. "Someone must have, but they won't say so. Couldn't pull anything off those masks they left behind, either."

"So it's somebody without their DNA on file or whatever?" Murphy asked.

Smecker shook his head again. "I mean, we couldn't get _anything_ off 'em. Nothing on the inside. They haven't been worn."

"Someone left 'em there ta throw ya off?" Murphy said.

"Looks like."

"Well, that's good news fer us, isn't it?" said Connor after a moment. "Everyone knows we wear our masks."

"That's true. Your names haven't come up yet but if they do, I'll be sure to use that. I am the world's leading expert on the Saints, after all," Smecker said, smirking. "No, looks like what we've got here is someone who didn't want the credit."

"Or blame," Murphy added. "So we're good, then?"

"Well, I wouldn't go prancing around while all my guys are in the neighborhood, but I think it's safe to say you're not going to go down for this one."

"Good!" Connor said, relieved.

"I thought you said it wasn't going well?" Murphy said.

"It's not, for me! I still have a quintuple homicide to solve!" said Smecker, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, right," Murphy said with a smile. "Hey, good luck with that."

"Thanks," Smecker said grimly, standing up. "Alright, back to work I go."

"Gonna be a long one?" Connor asked sympathetically.

"As usual," Smecker replied. "So, you guys stay out of trouble. I'll be in touch."

"Well, that's a relief," Murphy said after Smecker had gone.

"Yeah. Still…" Connor said thoughtfully.

Murphy raised his eyebrows. "Still what?"

"I don't know whether ta be flattered or pissed off. I mean, someone obviously wants ta take after us, but look that happened! Smecker thought it was us!"

"Yeah, but he figured out it wasn't. He woulda figured it out even if we hadn't told him.

"Yeah, Smecker probably woulda but someone else maybe wouldn't and we'd be gettin' the blame."

Murphy shrugged. "We haven't been doin' anything lately anyway, at least these guys are gettin' work done."

"Ye wanna quit on the Cavelli's thing, then? So we can 'get work done'?" Connor said, frowning.

"No, I didn't say that. I just think maybe we oughta do a little bit on the side, too."

"Christ, Murph, ye've got us stakin' out the pizza place fer hours at a time. How're we supposed ta go after other people too if we're playin' detective all day?"

"Forget it," Murphy said, getting up. He threw his empty beer can into the sink.

"No. This Cavelli's thing is yers. Ye're the one who has the hunch about it. If ye don't wanna do it anymore we'll find somethin' else," Connor said harshly.

Murphy turned to face his twin. "Well, I was right that the place was fishy, wasn't I? Buncha people just got shot up there."

Connor laughed. "See, ye're psychic! Ye read the aura of the pizza and felt a bad omen!" he teased.

"Ah, fuck you," Murphy said, laughing too.

"Seriously, ye're the leader on this one. It's up ta you," Connor said. He walked over to the window and opened it. Sitting on the sill, he took out a cigarette and lit it. Technically they weren't supposed to smoke in the apartment, according to their lease, but they figured this was close enough to outside.

"Alright, here's what I think," Murphy began thoughtfully.

"Mmhmm?" Connor encouraged.

"These other guys are obviously doin' alright with Cavelli's at the mo'."

"Aye."

"I wanna find _them._ Figure out who they are and if we gotta straighten 'em out."

Inwardly Connor sighed. This detective kick they were on was getting to be too much. Still, he had told Murphy he was in charge and so he would be.

"OK," Connor said, flicking his spent cigarette out the screenless window. "So, we find the Junior Saints."

Murphy smiled. "Yep."

"Hey, Murph," Connor said, his face breaking into a grin.

"Hmm?" Murphy said around his own cigarette that he was now lighting.

"What if they look just like us only smaller?"


End file.
